


The Birthday

by mmmuse



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5436767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Ross’s birthday. Demelza and Verity are throwing a party at Nampara. During the party, someone makes a shocking announcement, and a trespasser is discovered. </p>
<p>Prompt provided as part of the Poldarkian Fan Fiction contest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little something for the holidays. I really should say this is an AU, because some things happen here that don't happen in the books. But I kinda wish they did. Especially to one person in particular. I'll let you figure out who that might be.

Dusk fell on the stone cottage at the top of Nampara hill. A woman walked amidst the rioting flowers chasing along the stonewall surrounding her cottage, singing softly to the child wrapped in a sling around her.

_Memories like voice that call on the wind_  
Medhel an gwyns, Medhel an gwyns  
Whispered and tossed on the tide coming in  
Medhel oh Medhel an gwyns

Little Julia Grace Poldark had been christened that day. It marked her reception into the Holy Church of Christ, and to her community. A joyful day, with the people her mother and father held most dear. And yet, it ended with her mother Demelza in turmoil.

That day, the 14th of June 1788, had dawned sunny and bright. A good omen, Prudy said as they’d left for the church. Julia had been sweet tempered and calm throughout the service, even when Reverend Hodges trickled the cold water from the baptismal font onto her forehead. The baby had contentedly gnawed on her fist, which brought a smile to her mother’s face. Demelza had felt her husband Ross step closer to her, his hand warm and solid at her waist, and she’d leaned into him, strengthened by his love. The formation of their small family had made one more glorious step forward.

The gathering at the cottage following the service, however, had filled Demelza with anxiety. This was to be her first foray into hosting a party in polite society as mistress of Nampara, the home of Ross Poldark.

_Demelza’s nervousness began as their guests arrived, despite all of Verity’s supportive conversations and guidance. However, within hours, Demelza felt she’d been quite successful in hosting this first social gathering as Ross’s wife, notwithstanding the petty comments that had come from Ruth Treneglos upon her arrival, until she heard Jud’s voice announce the arrival of Demelza’s father and stepmother. Dread coursed through her veins as she looked out the window and saw the two black-clothed figures approaching the front gate of her home. The last time her father had been inside the cottage had resulted in a knock down fight between Ross and him. Several years had passed and the situation in both their lives had changed, but Demelza had yet to see any evidence of to show her father capable of keeping his opinions to himself._

_From the moment he entered the door, Tom Carne spewed rude and judgmental comments about their home, the guests and the refreshments. Ross did what he could to mitigate the situation, treating his father and mother-in-law with respect as he introduced them to their new granddaughter, his family and friends. Within minutes, the situation escalated when Carne insulted the very person Demelza had feared most – Ruth Treneglos – and her attire! Her husband John, egged on by his wife to issue a challenge to the insult to her honour, was barely restrained from doing so by Ross who, through quick thinking, reason and his very physical presence, managed to deescalate the situation._

_When asked if she was satisfied with Ross’s request for peace and resolution, Ruth had one thing to say in response: “Naturally, if Ross wishes to protect his new relative, allowances should be made… for those who don’t know any better.” The sidelong look of distain she cast in Demelza’s direction, all skilfully hidden from Ross and the rest of the party’s guests by Ruth’s resplendent hat, made her meaning unmistakable._

The party had broken shortly thereafter, with many thanking Ross and Demelza for a lovely afternoon, but Demelza had felt as if she’d failed the test. Ruth was right: she _was_ coarse and unschooled in the ways of the gentry. Ross _had_ married her because it was the right thing to do. And, someday, he would come to regret his choice.

Julia’s fussy whimper brought Demelza out of her thoughts. “Yes, my girl, it’s time for some supper,” she murmured to her daughter. Her voice was scratchy and strained from her unshed tears. One slipped free. Two or three followed, tracking down her cheek to fall onto the crest of her breast, a trio of dark circles marking the maroon silk of her top. She wiped the tears from her cheek before brushing the tip of her finger along her daughter’s and walking into the cottage.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross turned at the sound of the closing door and frowned with concern. Demelza walked slowly into the parlour, and it was clear she had been crying. He looked over at Jud and Prudy, who were helping to move the table and chairs back to their usual places. “That will be all, Jud…Prudy,” he said softly, “thank you for your help today.” The Paynters nodded, touching fetlock and curtseying before leaving the room. Ross crossed the room and slid his arm around his wife. “My dear?”

“Oh, Ross,” Demelza said, a sob in her voice. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” he murmured, guiding her and the baby over to the settee. He slipped his daughter out of the sling and rocked her in his arms.

“The party was a disaster,” she said, and the tears he’d seen welling in her eyes began to fall at last. He moved quickly, tucking Julia into the cradle near the fireplace before returning to Demelza’s side. He pulled her to her feet, gathering her in his arms and held her close, murmuring nonsense words into her ear as she wept silent tears against his shoulder. When she’d finished he tipped her head back to look into her face.

Her hands slid from around his waist to cover her face. She never wanted him to see her face when she was crying. “Oh Ross, my father, he shamed us, shamed me!” She sniffled loudly, which made a half-smile crease the side of his cheek. She mopped her face with her hands and raised red-rimmed eyes accusingly. The half smile faded in a thrice. “They were to come tomorrow, not today!”

Ross had known this altercation was coming. He steeled himself for the fight. “I know, my love.”

“But you said you invited them for today?” she wailed. “Why? Why would you do that when you knew they would make a scene?”

“Because today was meant for our family and friends.” He sighed heavily and lifted one hand to run through his hair. “They _are_ part of our family, Demelza, as much as we might want to forget that. And when we married, they became part of our reality, just as much as our cousins at Trenwith.” He cupped her face with both hands, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I had hoped his conversion to Methody would have stilled his tongue, of course, but…” He trailed off, brushing his lips against hers, tasting her tears. “I’m sorry, Demelza. I should have listened to you, trusted you and your opinions on the matter.”

He kissed her again, her lips trembling against his. Her hands slipped back round his waist and she leaned into him. He ended their kiss, leaning back to look into her eyes. “Can you forgive me?” he asked.

Her eyes were tired, worried and he saw in the depths the signs of defeat. “I shamed you today, Ross,” she whispered.

He was gutted by her words. “No! No you did not, Demelza!” he said, his hands sliding from her cheeks to her upper arms, gripping hard. “You did nothing of the sort! Your father is the one who is shamed, not you!”

“I come from him,” she snapped back, “a miner’s daughter from Illogan! Kitchen maid who seduced her master and forced him to ma—”

“—Enough now,” he hissed, forcing himself to lower his voice for the baby’s sake and giving her a small shake. “I will _not_ have you belittle yourself, Demelza.” He took one hand and brought it up to tilt her chin up, to look into his face. “ _I love you_ … miner’s daughter, kitchen maid, friend, lover, wife, mother of my child. There is no one but you, my girl! And to hell with whatever anyone has to say about your past.” He pressed an ardent kiss on her lips. “You are my present, my future, my own.”

She drew his head down to hers, kissing him longingly. His arms slid around her waist, clasping her tight against him. His tongue caressed hers, and she responded hungrily. She trembled in his arms, and he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down to grip her buttocks. She pressed her hips against him, and the hunger and need for her, for the love they had together, grew to flash point within seconds. He growled, low in his throat. His hand slid round to cup her breast before reaching for the buttons at the top of her bodice—

—At which point, Julia Grace made her thoughts about the delay in her supper well and truly known.

The pair sprang apart, breathing hard and flushed with a mixture of desire and embarrassment. He laughed, a little dryly and ran his fingers through his hair. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I _am_ sorry, my love.”

She smiled tremulously up at him and nodded. “I know you are, dear Ross.”

“Are we all right, Demelza?” he asked, unsurprised to hear the touch of desperation in his voice.

She nodded again. “We will be.” She pressed a kiss on his jaw and left his embrace to tend to their daughter.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Ross?” Demelza lit the candelabra on the bedside table, before settling on their bed to brush her hair.

“MMmmm?” he responded distractedly from the other side of the room. He was looking for a piece of paperwork at his desk. The fact that he happened to be naked – his nightshirt clutched forgotten in his left hand while he scrabbled the top of the desk with his right – was incidental and, despite her weariness, quite enjoyable to appreciate.

“I want to have another party,” she stated. She began to slowly twist her hair into a loose plait. Her eyes lingered on his muscular back and buttocks and she changed her mind, quickly shaking the locks free.

“Aha!” he said, triumphantly brandishing the scrap of paper he’d been seeking. He turned, lifting his eyes from his discovery to look at her. “We _are_ having another party,” he said. “Tomorrow, in fact.” He put the note down, blew out the candles on the desk and crossed the room to their bed, pulling the nightshirt over his head. “Had you forgotten, my dear?” he teased.

The hem of the nightshirt slid slowly down over his groin. It made her lose her train of thought for a moment. She shook herself and looked up at him. He’d caught the direction of her gaze and grinned wolfishly. “No, I have not forgotten it,” she quipped, her cheeks reddening. “I want to have another party to invite all of your sort, Ross. Another chance to prove myself to them—”

“—Demelza, we have discussed this,” he said with a groan. He sat down on the bed with a plop, sliding his legs under the bedclothes. “You have nothing to pro—”

“—Yes I do, Ross, even if you don’t see it!” she exclaimed before wincing, flicking her eyes over towards Julia’s cradle. She’d barely moved. “I need to do this for _me_ , Ross,” she hissed, sliding under the covers and into his arms.

He glanced down at her, a look of resignation on his face. “All right, Mistress Poldark. We shall have another party.” She clapped her hands and slipped them under his nightshirt. He shivered. “When do you want to do this?”

She paused, considering. “We couldn’t do for my birthday, who would come?” He gave her a light swat on the behind. It was _her_ turn to shiver. “How about your birthday?” She stilled completely, the suddenness of shocked realization radiating throughout her mind and body, then rose up on one elbow to look down at him. “When is your birthday, Ross?” she asked, a little breathless. She saw some of the colour leave his face and a furrow start on his brow. “How is it possible for me _not_ to know your birthday?” The furrow that had shadowed his forehead was realized. “Ross, when is it?”

“I don’t know.”

His voice was barely a whisper. She shook him with the hand she had on his chest. “Ross? What did you say?”

“I said I don’t know, Demelza,” he said, a bit louder and stronger than before. He rose from the bed and began to pace near the fireplace. Demelza watched him, horrified. How could a person not know the date of their birth? Despite their impoverished state, birthdays had always been celebrated in the Carne home, even after the death of her mother. They were not elaborate celebrations in the least, but there had always been something to mark the occasion, be it a special treat for supper or a bit of ribbon. To think that Ross had gone through his life without ever having someone acknowledge his birthday made her mourn for him.

She rose from their bed and walked over to where he’d stopped, his hands braced on the mantel, and placed her own hand between his shoulder blades. She felt the muscles under her palm twitch before they relaxed under her touch. He drew back one of his arms to bring her into his embrace and kissed her temple. “I was christened in late January, 1760, so I assume it was sometime early January…or, perhaps, late December 1759?”

She would _not_ ask him why it was never celebrated. There was time enough for that. “Would you object to my wishes to mark the occasion in the future, Ross?”

He looked down at her. “If you feel you must, my dear.” A quizzical expression lit in his eyes. “Am I to choose a date myself?”

She nodded. “I _do_ have a suggestion, though.”

“Tell me,” he said, a smile softening his features. She was glad of that.

“December 25th,” she said.

“Christmas Day?” he said, puzzled. “Why that day in particular?” She felt her cheeks grow warm with shyness and he laughed, kissing her softly. “Demelza? What is it?”

She looked into his eyes, and felt the beginnings of tears in her own. “It was the first time you told me you loved me,” she whispered.

He blinked at her, and it made her remember that night less than six months before when he’d said the words she never thought he would. He reached down to cup her cheeks as he had done then, mere moments after that admission, when she’d surprised him with the news of their child. And he kissed her, with all the love in the world, just as he had that night. She returned his kiss, love and promise and devotion for him ever present in her heart and mind.

They broke apart, forehead pressed to forehead before leaning back to look into one another’s eyes. He nodded. “December 25th it is, then.”

~*~*~*~*~*~**~

Christmas Eve, Wednesday, 24th of December 1788

Christmas Eve 1788 dawned sunny and cold with a fresh blanket of snow covering the Cornish countryside. The Poldarks – Ross, Demelza and little Julia – shared the day together, insulated in the stone cottage on the hill at Nampara. They rose late, snuggling in the bed in the master chamber, enjoying the silence that comes with the freshness of a heavy snowfall.

By the time she’d made it downstairs and out into the garden, Julia bundled up tight from the cold, Demelza began to worry that the heavy snow would keep their guests from attending Ross’s birthday celebration the following day. Ross, who’d been out to the barn to check on the animals and back, chuckled. “We’ll have sleighs and sleds parked out front and more cold, wet souls in this house than you will know what to do with, my dear. The promise of fine food, liquor and the warmth of a fire will draw them in like moths to a flame.” She smiled at his reassurance before swallowing heavily and heading into the house to put their pork roast into the oven.

The truth of the matter was that she _was_ worried. Terrified, actually. Not because they hadn’t planned well. On the contrary, under Verity’s skilled tutelage, Demelza had thrown herself into the planning for this event with all of the passion and precision of a military general preparing for battle. She’d had lists upon lists of instructions and timetables for her preparations. They’d planned the butchering of their fattest duck earlier in the week and had spent days preparing pies, cakes, savouries and other delicacies with Prudy and Jinny. No, the preparations weren’t what had her scared. This was her chance to prove to those closest to Ross that he hadn’t made a mistake in marrying her. She may have come from common stock, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t be the kind of wife Captain Ross Poldark of Nampara deserved.

The preparations for the occasion had all been going to plan until the day before: Prudy fell whilst dusting the parlour and sprained her wrist. When it happened, Demelza had arched a brow at the woman, remembering a time when she’d done so before and gleefully extended her month long reprieve from work far longer than necessary. But Dwight had confirmed she’d not only sprained it but broken it as well.

_Demelza blanched, feeling guilty of doubting the woman. “Oh Prudy, I’m so sorry!”_

_“’Twernt your fault, Mistress,” she said, wincing as Dwight secured it to a splint for wrapping. “But I’ll be no help to ye tomorrow.”_

_Demelza tried to reassure Prudy as best as she could, swallowing the panic that rose in her throat. Attempting to hostess a gathering of this importance without all of their servants would be a disaster. Jinny tapped Demelza on the arm. “Mistress Poldark, I know of a girl in Mellin who could step in to hel—”_

_“—Oh Jinny, do you?” Demelza exclaimed, whirling to smile at her friend. The sense of relief she felt was almost enough to make her lightheaded. “That would be wonderful!”_

_Jinny blushed. “There’s only one problem.” Demelza motioned for her to continue. “She has a babe, a son, ‘round the same age as my Kate. She’s no one to look after the lad. May she bring the child with her? My sister has agreed to come to care for Miss Julia and my Kate during the party. She could watch over Jon at the same time.”_

_Demelza considered this for approximately three seconds before giving her consent. Crisis averted._

Demelza blinked, shaking herself from her memories. She stared into the fire on the hearth before casting one last look at the sleeping Julia in her cradle. She headed into the parlour to finish the dusting and tidying for tomorrow’s event. She was bound and determined for this gathering to be a success, to help take away some of the sting from what had happened at Julia’s Christening. She would see to the success of this party. She owed it to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~~*~

Christmas Eve Dinner was finished and Ross leaned back in his chair, sleepy and content. Jud and Prudy had long since retired for the evening. Demelza came in from the kitchen, where she’d tucked the baby down after her feeding, and picked up the basket of greens she’d reserved for decorating the window ledges and mantelpiece. He puffed on his clay pipe, an indulgence he rarely entertained, enjoying the scent of the pipe smoke and brandy while he watched his wife scurry about, tucking holly and evergreens hither, dither and yon.

He hadn’t quite known what to make of all the fuss around a birthday gathering. For him! While he’d been embarrassed to confess he’d had no idea when his actual birthdate was, he’d had to admit he’d been greatly moved by her desire to do something for him. And the joy she’d taken in the planning with Verity truly touched him. While he’d known she would never feel comfortable around some of the people with whom he was acquainted, the friendship she’d established with Verity was one of the great joys he’d been able to share with her.

The selection of Christmas Day to be his birthday had been a lovely gesture, one he paused to appreciate as he watched her from across the room. He could hardly believe it had almost been a year since he’d told her he loved her. And the love he had for her consumed him: made him strive to be better for her, to bask in her smiles and sighs. So much had changed in the eighteen months since they’d married: the mine was holding its own; their lands had produced record crops, adding to the family coffers; and now they had Julia. He was a very lucky man.

He’d kept his nose out of the planning for the event, delighting in the pleasure it had given his wife in the doing. He was curious, however, about who would be in attendance. She and Verity had consulted with him on the guest list and ultimately invited dozens of people, including his closest allies from the mine, his investors and his family (Demelza had flatly refused to extend an invitation to her father, to which he’d quickly agreed). The other benefit of selecting Christmas Day as his birthday – he hoped – would mean the gathering would remain small and intimate. After all, who but those closest to them would wish to leave their own hearths and homes to travel through the snow to spend Christmas night with them?

He glanced up to see his wife, standing before the tree they’d put up in the parlour, her arms wrapped around her waist. He set the pipe, long since cooled, down onto the table and rose from his seat to walk over to her. He placed his hands on her upper arms and gave them a squeeze. She turned, her hands slipping round his waist to press against the silk-covered muscles of his back, drawing him closer for a kiss. She was warm from her labours and he could feel her pulse quicken under the hand he had at her neck. His tongue touched and tangled with hers and he swallowed the sigh that came from her mouth, answering with a moan of his own.

They separated, each breathing heavily, foreheads resting against one another’s. Ross took a deep breath and exhaled before leaning back to look in her eyes. “I swear, by all that is holy, I will obtain a thick, soft rug for this room before the year is out.”

She laughed, her voice throaty. “I will hold you to that, my love,” she whispered, running her hands across his chest, her index finger sliding inside the open collar of his shirt to toy with his chest hair. “You don’t have much time!”

“All the more reason for tomorrow’s gathering to be finished so that I may go to Truro and remedy the situation,” he said, grinning as his hands gathered her closer, pressing his hips against hers. His smile broadened at the shudder that ran through her body. “Have you finished for the evening, my dear?”

“I believe I have, Ross,” she said, her eyes jade-green and feline. She leaned up to kiss the hollow at his throat. “We are in good stead for tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” he said, stepping out of their embrace and extending his hand. “I say we collect our daughter and retire for the evening.” He gave her hand a squeeze as they walked through the door. “It is near midnight and I want to wish you a very special Happy Christmas before the invasion begins.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Early the next morning, Ross and Demelza exchanged gifts in bed: a hand knitted scarf in a deep forest green for him and a rose coloured pearl pendant for her. As they shared kisses of thanks and gratitude, the gift they each cherished the most smiled and rolled round between them on the feather mattress.

Verity arrived to assist with final preparations at nine o’clock, closely followed by Jinny, her little sister Maggie and her friend Clara at a quarter past. Demelza guessed that Clara was in her early twenties, a shy, pretty girl with a short cap of red hair and blue eyes. Demelza liked her immensely. Clara thanked the Poldarks for the opportunity and apologized for bringing her son, Jon. He was a sturdy little chap of eighteen months, with big grey eyes and a mop of blond hair. He clung to his mother’s skirts and peered up shyly at the two strangers looming over him.

Demelza looked at her husband and muffled a giggle at the smirk on his face. “There’s no need to apologize, Clara! We are happy to have you,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of Ross’s elbow. “Jinny, please show them up to the spare room. We will have the children stay there for the party.”

Jinny bobbed a curtsey, echoed by both Maggie and Clara and they left the room. Demelza felt Ross’s gaze on her profile and she turned to face him. “No. I shall never get used to the curtseys, Ross.”

His bark of laughter warmed her heart.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first of the irritants reared its ugly head when Ross rose from the kitchen table to go to the parlour. Demelza pressed a hand on his chest and flatly refused to let him step foot in the room, for fear he would disturb their preparations. He’d glowered at her before picking up his hat and greatcoat and marching outside to check on the animals. He muttered the entire time he spent in the barn with Darkie and Rose. It was supposed to be his birthday! And he was barred from spending it inside his own damn house?

Twenty minutes later, he shivered and cursed before sending another fork of hay flying into the stall. He drove the pitchfork into the haystack. Enough was enough. He would be damned if he had to stay outside, freezing, on his birthday. He stomped across the yard and into the outer hallway.

“—STOP!” came the order from the parlour. He froze, looking up to see his wife, her hair tied up in a scarf, wearing her oldest dress and shaking a finger warningly in his direction.

“Demelza,” he growled.

“Take off your boots before you take one more step into this house, Ross Poldark,” she warned before turning and marching back into the warm room.

He glowered at her back before leaning against the door and wrenching his boots off. The second boot had barely cleared his foot when a streak of dirty brown fur dashed past him. “Garrick!” he shouted, feet sliding in the mud and snow that the dog had tracked in on his paws. He heard a bark, several screams, curses and a crash before Garrick came sprinting back down the hall and out the door; a raw, stuffed duck clasped tightly in his jaws.

He closed the door, wincing at the sound of shrieks and wails coming from the kitchen and walked towards the din. The vision he encountered would have made him laugh long and hard were his poor wife not in the middle of it. The empty roasting pan lay at her feet, broth and onions puddling about on the flagstones. Muddy paw prints covered the floor. Jinny and Clara were patting Demelza on her shoulders, shushing her with calming words and phrases that seemed to have little effect on her distress. Verity stood back, her hand pressed to her lips to keep from laughing.

“Of all the days for that thrice-damned animal to come trespassing into this kitchen!” Demelza wailed.

“But you love that creature, Demelza!” Ross exclaimed, wishing to have had his tongue removed from his mouth the second the words left his lips.

“YOU let that BEAST in here, Ross!” Demelza accused. “NOW what will we serve for the party?!” She sat down on the kitchen bench and wept.

Verity _barely_ swallowed her laughter. The traitor. “Demelza, come here.” He lifted her from the bench, despite the swats and slaps she tried to land upon him and gathered her against him. “I’m very sorry for leaving the door open, my dear. It’s not the end of the world. We’ve another duck that could be prepared in time, or there is plenty of ham.” He stroked her back and kissed her jaw before looking over her head at the three other women in the room. He frowned, motioning for them to set the room to rights with a jerk of his head. They scattered. He returned his attention to the woman weeping in his arms. “Everything will be fine, my dear.” He leaned back and kissed her. “Why don’t you go upstairs and have a lie down?”

She blinked up at him, a furrow forming on her brow. “I couldn’t do that, Ross! There is too much to be done!”

“Demelza, look!” He turned her so she could see Verity, Jinny and Clara’s combined industry towards repairing the damage “the BEAST” had caused. “They have your marching orders, my dear, do they not?”

She nodded and worried her bottom lip. He felt his left cheek crease in a smile. Verity walked over from where she’d been gathering more items from the larder to dress the bird. She laid a hand on Demelza’s shoulder. “We’ll get things taken care of here, cousin,” she said reassuringly. “Go on, rest awhile.”

Demelza looked at both of them and nodded, sniffling before shifting her gaze to his. “I think I will be glad when this day is over, Ross.”

He chuckled dryly and marvelled at the beauty of her misty-green eyes. “Me as well, Demelza. Go on now.”

He watched her climb the stairs, turning to Verity as soon as Demelza disappeared around the bend. “What needs to be done, cousin?”

Verity sighed. “We will need to get the duck in the oven within the hour, Ross. Is that possible?”

He nodded. “Jinny, go get the duck we prepared for Reverend Odgers’s gift,” he said, pursing his lips in contemplation of the gift he had decided to give the priest for his services to his new family. “He will have to be happy with a chicken. Meanwhile, please get the mud and snow up as quickly as you can.” His eyes flicked out of the window and narrowed. “I will go deal with Garrick.”

Twenty minutes later, Ross had extracted the partially consumed duck from Garrick’s jaws – not an easy task – and glared at the dog. “You’ll be sick for a week, you idiot. It will serve you right.” He then spent another thirty minutes digging a hole in the partially frozen ground deep enough to bury the carcass and hauled an old stump over to cover it. Garrick was a determined dog. It was nearly noon by the time he headed back towards the house. He was cold and wet, covered in mud, dog slobber, bits of uncooked duck and a good deal of sweat. Some birthday.

He had the foresight to remove his boots before entering the house and tiptoed into the parlour to find everything back to normal. The duck was in the oven and the room had been put back in order. He smiled, blowing out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, ladies.”

Verity nodded and the girls curtseyed. “Captain Poldark, sir?” Jinny said. “We took some hot water up to your bedchamber for you to use for your bath, sir.” She paused. “The mistress was sleepin’ when we last checked.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Jinny,” he said before he climbed the stairs.

When he opened the door, he found Demelza huddled under the bedclothes, a cheery fire in the hearth and a pitcher and a pan of hot water sitting on his desk. He closed the door and silently removed his clothing, putting them into the hamper near the door before beginning his ablutions. He was finishing up when he heard her clear her throat behind him. He turned to find her looking at him, eyes a little puffy from her tears, her hair in a wild tumble around her shoulders, her nightrail loose around her shoulders. He put down the bath linen and crossed over to the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he watched her gather the garment up and around her waist, drawing it over her head. She tossed it onto the floor. His body responded, loins tightening as he climbed into bed and gathered her against him. She was soft and warm, and he welcomed the heat of her body against his.

“Ross!” she exclaimed, shivering as his icy feet touched hers, “your feet are like blocks of ice!”

“I know,” he said wryly. “I’ve been tangling with that dog of yours. He’s not one to give up a tasty treat like the one he acquired this morning.” He stifled the laughter that bubbled up from his belly over the curses his wife muttered under her breath. Poor Garrick. He’d have a ways to go to work himself back into his mistress’s good graces.

“Bloody wretch,” she muttered before snuggling close, her hands stroking his lower back and buttocks. All thoughts of the dog evaporated from his mind in a thrice. His hands shifted to cup her breasts, their blue veins prominent through her pale skin. “Let me warm you, dear Ross,” she murmured against his throat.

She shifted to leave a kiss behind his ear before taking his lobe between her teeth to nip. He shuddered, pressing kisses to the underside of her jaw and neck. He slid down to kiss her breasts, fuller now due to their daughter. He caressed her gently, not wishing to harm her, for he knew they were sometimes tender. Several pearls of milk leaked from her nipple. Ross caught them on the tip of his tongue, savouring the sweetness and warmth.

“R-ross,” Demelza whispered, her hands clasping his head to her breasts, her nails raking his scalp. His hands caressed her hips before his right slipped in between her thighs and found her wet with desire. He fondled her, delighting in the low, desperate sounds she made. He moaned against her breast as he suckled, his erection pressed against her hip, thrusting against her. He wrenched his mouth away from her nipple, sliding his hips between her legs and thrust home.

He stilled, allowing the heat of her to consume him, the ripples he knew preceded her climax shimmering along the length of him. “My love,” he whispered, gasping in her ear. “My dear love.”

“R-r-ross.” Her voice was a breathy sigh against his ear as he slowly began to thrust within her. Time seemed to slow, as they found their rhythm, flexing and moving together as one. Her hands slid around his sides and down, her nails running along his lower back and making him gasp. “Please…”

He kissed her, hard, as she bucked against his hips, driving him deeper into her body. He slipped out of her, ignoring her protests as he turned her onto her side. He swiftly entered her again, stroking the long line of her back with the tips of his fingers as she arched against his hips. He pulled her closer, his teeth biting the nape of her neck as he thrust against her, savouring her heat. He watched as her left hand slipped between her legs, stroking herself and his need for her trebled, dragging a groan from deep within his chest. “Oh God, Demelza, _your_ hands…on _your_ body…make me…” He shifted his left hand to clasp her hip, holding her still for the taking. His thrusts intensified, and his hand joined hers between her legs, caressing her slickness, fingers interwoven with hers.

They panted, frantic for each other until she froze, as if suspended in thin air for the space of a heartbeat. She shuddered violently against him, the walls of her sex squeezing him, causing him to cry out as he joined her in oblivion. ~~~~

Several moments passed. They lay naked and entwined, their bodies still tentatively joined, relishing the trailing end of their lovemaking. He kissed her shoulder tenderly, pulling her closer to his chest, breathing in the smell of flowers from her hair. He closed his eyes, and was dozing within seconds.

“Ross?” she said, waking him from the doze and snuggling back against him. The warmth of her buttocks felt good against his groin.

“Mmmm?” he responded, his left hand sliding up from her hip to cup her breast. Another bead of milk winked from her nipple. He caught it with his finger and rubbed it into her skin.

“I’m sorry that things got off to such a chaotic start.” She turned to face him and he slipped his hand down to her waist.

“It’s not your fault, my love. It was mine,” he said, leaning down to kiss her nose.

“My reaction to it was my fault,” she said. “I just want this party to be perfect for you.”

He shook his head. “You place far too much pressure on yourself, my dear. And I know we’ve had this conversation before,” he added before she could protest. “It would please me greatly if you tried to relax. The food has been taken care of; the kitchen is back in order. Verity and the girls have things well in hand.”

Demelza rose up from their embrace as if trying to hear something. “Ross, Julia’s crying.”

He kissed her. “It would appear she is due for a feeding, my own. Why don’t you go gather her from Maggie and bring her back here? There’s no other place I’d rather be on my birthday than with you, here in our bed, watching you feed our daughter.”

She nodded and rose. He smiled. They could all use a bit of a lie in today.

~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~~*

Verity glanced around the parlour one last time. The candles were lit, the food was set, and the punch was ready. Now all she had to do was find Demelza. Ross, who was in the library, said he’d been ordered out of the bedroom. “The words ‘stay out of the way’ were involved, cousin,” he muttered. “She said she would be downstairs shortly, but that was twenty minutes ago.” Verity frowned: the guests were due at any moment.

Verity climbed the stairs to the master bedchamber and knocked on the door. She heard a muffled “Come in” from behind the door and pushed the door open. She found her young cousin standing in front of the ancient mirror over the fireplace, nervously pinning her hair into place. “Demelza, the guests will be very soon, my dear. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She nodded. “Please help me with the last of these pins, Verity,” she said shakily. “There is enough to worry about tonight, the least of which is my troublesome hair!” She looked at Verity in the mirror, her eyes bright despite the fear that could be heard in her voice. “It was much easier to manage when it was shorter, but I haven’t had the heart to trim it.”

“I should hope not, my dear,” Verity said, picking up the comb and, within seconds, expertly pinning several curls into place. “It is absolutely lovely, and I know how much Ross appreciates it.” Two more curls, managed. “He stares, you know.”

Demelza spun around, her eyes widening to near perfect circles. “Oh, Verity!”

Verity turned Demelza back around to finish the job. “He does. It is very subtle, but he does. See if you can catch him at it tonight!”

The two young women laughed. Verity stood back and admired her handiwork. “There. You are simply lovely, cousin.” And she was. Demelza wore a new, cranberry red gown for the occasion. It reminded Verity of the dress her cousin had worn for Christmas one year before. She remembered the first time she’d seen her new cousin appear in the dining room at Trenwith, nervous as a newborn foal, facing a roomful of strangers for the first time. She’d managed it beautifully and Verity was quite convinced the same would be true tonight.

“I had wished to wear the gown I wore last year, but I don’t think I will be able to manage that until Julia is on solid food,” Demelza said, looking over at the wardrobe where the pretty dress hung. Verity remembered helping her cousin into that gown a year ago, when she’d been nearly four months pregnant. They’d managed it, but barely, and poor Demelza had paid for it: any food eaten only remained in her stomach long enough to reach the privy, and the stays had been nearly unbearable. She looked much more comfortable in the fashionable raw silk gown they’d selected several weeks ago for the occasion.

She smoothed her skirts and brought her hand to pat her hair. “Thank you, Verity!”

“Are you ready for the onslaught?” Verity asked Demelza as they made their way down the stairs and into the parlour.

Demelza pressed a hand to her stomach. “As ready as I’ll ever be, but I must admit I am not as nervous as I _thought_ I would be.”

Verity smiled. “One reaches a point where there is nothing left to be done but to enjoy one’s self and respond to the events as they come,” she said, patting Demelza on the arm. “And so we shall. Ah! Ross! It is nice of you to join us!” she teased as her other cousin emerged from the library.

Ross, too, was well appointed for the evening’s festivities. He wore a suit of black velvet and waistcoat of olive green, which brought out the green in his eyes. He’d done what he could with the wild mane of black curls that graced his head and, she noticed, smiled in deep appreciation of his wife’s appearance. “Good evening, ladies,” he said deeply, walking over and kissing first Verity's hand, then the inside of Demelza’s wrist, lingering over the latter long enough to make his wife blush. His eyes moved over Demelza’s face before pausing just long enough on her hair to make Demelza flick her gaze in Verity’s direction. Verity hid her laughter behind a discrete cough.

Just then, a knock rang out on the door. “Shall we begin?” he asked and escorted both ladies to their places.

An hour later, and Verity could objectively say the evening had been a rousing success. The guests enjoyed the delicious food and drink offered by their hosts, were engaged in happy, contented conversation and most importantly, Demelza was relaxed and enjoying herself. Ross stood close to her as they talked to Captain Henshawe and his wife before splitting off to tackle the opposite side of the room. Verity made her way over to where Demelza was now chatting with Mrs. Martin when two new guests arrived through the parlour door. Verity pressed a discrete hand to Demelza’s waist in warning and felt her young cousin flinch, her muscles tightening all along her back.

John and Ruth Treneglos.

Verity saw Ross’s eyes flash over to where she and Demelza stood and gave the briefest of nods before he walked over to greet the couple. Verity leaned in close. “Demelza, remember, everyone here cares for you,” she whispered intensely. “Do not allow her to fluster you, my dear.”

Demelza nodded stiffly before she moved over to join her husband’s side.

“Demelza, John and Ruth have come to bring us the greetings of the season,” Ross said warmly. Verity noticed his hand had slid protectively around her waist and squeezed. She made her way across the room to join her cousins. _All for one and one for all,_ she thought to herself.

“And all the best for your birthday as well, Ross,” Ruth said sweetly, smiling up into his face before shifting her gaze to Demelza’s face. Her smile decreased in its brightness by half. “Best wishes for the holiday, Mistress Poldark,” she said. Verity was amazed at how much insincerity could tinge the title ‘Mistress Poldark’.”

“You are most welcome, Ruth… John,” Demelza said, her voice strong and pleasant.

“Yes, well, we were delayed due to the length of our Christmas dinner at Teague House,” John said gregariously. “I’ve never seen so many courses in all my life!” he added, rubbing a stomach that had begun to paunch. “If I didn’t know better, Mother Teague was trying to keep us occupied until it was too late to visit here!”

Verity and Demelza exchanged a glance. The party was intended to end by nine o’clock and it was near on half past eight.

“Will we have the pleasure of your dear father’s company again, Mistress Poldark?” Ruth asked, the edge on her voice dulled with honey.

“No, we won’t, but I will pass along your warmest regards, Mistress Treneglos,” Demelza said, smiling, without batting an eye. “May we offer you refreshment?” She motioned over towards where Clara was serving the Martins cups of mulled wine. Verity noticed that some of the colour in John Treneglos’s cheeks paled when he saw the young maid but was soon distracted by the sound of a ring chiming against a wine glass.

All eyes swung around towards Zacky Martin, who had risen to his feet, his wine class poised to make a toast.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to propose a toast to a man I’ve known since boyhood. A friend to all, I wish him all of the very best on his birthday and in the year to come. To Ross Poldark!”

“Ross Poldark!” the voices in the room rang out. Ross’s cheeks were ruddy with embarrassment, but Verity thought she detected a moment of true happiness when he clasped Zacky on the arm and nodded in thanks to him. Her cousin deserved all the happiness in the world, she thought. After all he’d gone through, he was now in the position to have just that.

“Thank you, Zacky,” Ross’s resonant voice cut through the crowd noise. “And thank all of you who dared to come out after your holiday parties, through the snow, to share the evening with us.” He held out a hand to Demelza, who blinked in surprise before walking over to his side. His hand slipped around her waist. Verity saw Ruth pull a face out of the corner of her eye and had to cover her laughter with yet another cough.

“I was not at all certain about the idea for this gathering when it was proposed to me by my wife.” He turned his gaze to hers and smiled. “I’d never celebrated my birthday before and was, quite frankly, not at all certain what all the fuss would be about.” There was a smattering of laughter that caused the dimple in the side of his face to make a winking appearance. “However, it’s natural to consider these kinds of things after the birth of one’s first child. I’ve discovered many things during my first six months of fatherhood. First, that if she starts crying, it is best to stop whatever one is doing and tend to her needs for the sound grows exponentially!” More laughter. “Second, that there is nothing so sweet as the feel of her fingers gripping one of mine.” There were murmured sounds recognition from both the men and women in the room. “Finally, cherish and celebrate moments like these, for they are fleeting.” He raised his glass. “Therefore, I would like to propose a toast to my wife, Demelza. You are a constant joy, my love. Thank you for today, for our Julia and for our life together.”

“To Demelza!” rang out the cry from around the room. Verity blinked tears out of her eyes as she saw her cousin kiss his wife on the hand, cheek and lips.

_It is life’s greatest treasure to love, and to be loved in return._

Her own words sprang unbidden in her mind. She remembered the day she’d spoken those words to her young cousin, only a few months following their wedding, when she’d spent several weeks with the new couple at Nampara. Demelza freely admitted to loving Ross beyond anything, but had been convinced she would never hear the words come from Ross himself. But by the end the visit Verity had thought differently. She’d seen just how much of a change Demelza had brought to his life: the smiles, the teasing. His protectiveness and the tenderness displayed when he thought no one was looking. The way he looked at her from across the table during supper in the evenings and when he’d seen her coming in from her rambles for flowers each morning. Ross and Demelza had been granted the greatest treasure in one another.

Verity brushed a tear from her cheek, her happiness for her cousins so great. She took a step towards them to share an embrace with them when a commotion was heard at the doorway. She swung around just in time to see a young boy dash in from the kitchen, Maggie and the new maid Clara running after him.

The little boy came to a stop in front of John Treneglos. “Papa!” the boy exclaimed, throwing his arms up towards John.

The room was as silent as the grave for approximately three seconds. Then pandemonium set in. Clara scooped up the little boy, who compounded the problem by pointing directly in John’s face and bellowing, “MAMA! THERE’S PAPA!” as she fled from the room, Maggie and Jinny close on her heels. Verity had only had a quick glance at the boy, but the resemblance was clear, right down to the shocked grey eyes and startled expression on their faces. Gasps of shock and babbles of “What did he say?” “Did he say, ‘Papa’?” “Who on earth IS that?” ricocheted off the stone walls of the room.

John Treneglos looked as though he’d been shot. But it was Ruth Treneglos’s face that was a sight to behold. White and blotchy in one instant, it appeared to have been carved out of stone. Tears trembled on her lashes, unwilling to risk falling for fear of being blasted into non-existence by the rapid return of boiling-red heat rising in her cheeks.

As the din quieted, all eyes turned to the Trenegloses, who stood stock still in the centre of the room. John scrabbled his hand around to grip Ruth’s arm. Ruth flung her arm from him and whirled on her husband. “TELL EVERYONE THIS IS NOT TRUE, JOHN,” she screeched, trembling from head to foot. John stood, motionless, his eyes unblinking towards the door where the child and the servants had fled. Ruth’s hand flashed out, slapping John across the face. “TELL them, you PATHETIC, MISERABLE EXCUSE of a MAN!” She raised her hand again, intent to bring it down across his face once again but was stopped by the iron-strong grip of Ross Poldark.

Verity nearly gasped at the look of rage that filled her cousin’s countenance. Ruth attempted to wrench her hand free from his grip and failed. Instead, Ross pulled her closer, his voice a hiss of derision. “You forget yourself, ma’am. You are a guest in my home. I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour.”

“Well, of COURSE, you would side with HIM, Captain Poldark!” she shrieked, flinging her free hand in the direction of her husband, who pressed a cold cloth – that Demelza had provided – to his cheek, his face still flat with shock. “You and that bastard are cut from the same cloth, are you not? Nothing but rutting animals, the lot of you! So out of control with your lust that you will merrily fornicate with the hired help!”

She then spat in his face.

If the silence at the announcement had been thick, it paled in comparison with what descended the room at that moment. Ross released Ruth’s arm with a ferocity that it made her stumble several paces before she righted herself. No one reached out to assist her.

“You…ma’am,” Ross growled, his voice dripping venom with every syllable. “You will leave this house and never, I mean NEVER darken its doorway again.”

She gawped at him, then took a step back. She searched the room for an ally, but found none. “John!” she demanded.

“What.” The voice was so quiet the word was almost missed. John had lowered the cloth from his face, bleeding from a split lip and while the cloth had removed some of the redness from his cheek, the imprint of Ruth’s hand was still visible and had begun to bruise.

“We are leaving to contend with this outrage at home!” she shrieked, turning on her heel to walk towards the door.

“No.”

Silence fell upon the room once again, the third time in so many minutes. John stood stock still in the centre of the room, the cloth forgotten in one hand, the other clenched in a fist against his thigh.

Ruth flinched at his response. “What do you mean, ‘no’, you wretched excu—”

“—I mean NO, Ruth!” he shouted. “I will not leave here with you.” He cast a look around at the other guests in the parlour before turning his back on her and walking into the kitchen. Verity could have sworn she heard him say, “I should never have married her” as he walked past.

Ruth stood stock still, her mouth opening and shutting, giving her the appearance of a goldfish in a bowl. She looked around the room, her face, drained of all colour and leaving her a ghostly shade of grey, peering at all those assembled. Then she turned on her heel and ran.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was nearing midnight when Ross wearily climbed the stairs and entered the bedchamber. He saw Demelza sitting in bed, surrounded in candlelight. Her hair tumbling down from the fetching arrangement she’d worn earlier and cascading over her shoulders. He had looked forward to taking it down himself, truth be told. Now all he wanted to do was to sink his fingers into it and lose himself in her.

The expression on her face erased any possibility of _that_ happening for quite some time.

“Ross?” she hissed, casting a quick glance over at the baby’s cradle. “I have been patiently waiting for you to come up stairs and tell me what happened!”

He arched a brow at her and shrugged out of his topcoat. She sprang out of bed and hurried over to him, her fingers expertly flicking open the buttons of his waistcoat before untying his cravat and taking care of the buttons at his wrists. He blinked, his body responding immediately and frowned. “All right! All right!” He gripped her hands and pushed her away from him. “Go back over to the bed so I can finish the rest or we will skip the explanations and go straight to what I want to do _right_ _now_.”

She pouted. He growled. She squeaked and ran back to the bed, sliding under the covers. He chuckled in spite of himself, and walked over to the bed to sit and remove his boots.

“Well?!” she said, flapping a hand at him.

He rolled his eyes and pulled a boot off with a huff. She made a move to help him, a twinkle in her eye, but he glared her down. “Poor Horace and John just left a few minutes ago.”

“And?”

He turned and looked at her before starting on the second boot. “Apparently, John had a dalliance with one of the house maids at Treneglos Manor a couple of years ago.” He grinned. “Did you happen to notice the similarities in colouring between you and Clara, my dear?” He looked ruefully at his wife’s red-goal tresses and mischievous green eyes. “Clearly he has a preference towards red-heads.”

Demelza gasped. “Ross!” He chuckled, stripping off his stockings and unlacing the ties on his calves. “Go on!”

“Based on how besotted he is with the girl it’s clear to see that it was more than a dalliance.” He turned and found Demelza sitting inches from him, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes as large as saucers.

“So..so, what happens now, Ross?” she whispered through her hands.

Ross blew out a breath. “John intends to pursue a divorce,” he said, rubbing his hand across his jaw.

Demelza gaped. “Honestly? Divorce? Ross, there is much more to this story and I would have it known to me!”

He scrubbed his face with both hands and looked at her. “After most of the guests had left, John came out of the kitchen and told us the story. The relationship with Clara lasted almost a year before the poor girl became with child. In any event, the girl was hustled out of the house and given a moderate settlement to cover her care during her pregnancy, but it’s clear that money is long gone. John, unbeknownst to his father, remained in touch with the girl and has visited her and the child over the last several months. He’d been prepared to marry the girl, but his father had forbidden it.” He paused. “Poor Horace. He looked as though he’s aged ten years in the space of an instant, Demelza.” He rose from the bed and walked over to the desk to pour two glasses of brandy, returned and handed her one. “The marriage to Ruth was one of convenience, for the most part. Well, convenience for John…desperation for the Teagues.” He paused for a moment. “Did I ever tell you she once tried to set her cap for me, my dear?”

The look on Demelza’s face was one he wished he could have saved on canvas forever: outrage, horror and dawning realization. “Is THAT why she is so horrible towards me? Because you chose me over her?” The scowl over her eyes, deepened. “Vindictive heifer!”

Ross choked on his brandy, laughing and coughing loud enough to threaten Julia’s sleep. He managed to gather his composure and continued the story. “Ruth had been flinging herself at every available bachelor in the county. John was, basically, _strongly_ encouraged to return her attentions by Horace. He went along with it because he is, at his heart, a gentleman, despite his earlier indiscretions.

“The marriage was never much of a success. So, from a legal perspective, John has grounds for divorce for lack of consortium—”

“—Lack of what?” she asked, confused.

“They haven’t been sharing a bed, my dear. Not since their wedding night,” he said, his eyes lingering on Demelza’s face. _I never want to leave_ our _bed,_ he thought to himself before blinking to clear his thoughts and took a sip of brandy. “If this is true, John will have grounds for it.”

“But won’t Ruth have grounds as well? Adultery, perhaps, since he’s been seeing Clara and little Jon these past few months?” she asked.

“There’s no way to prove that John has resumed his relationship with Clara, unless Ruth is able to drum up a witness to make it so. Since the child was conceived prior to John’s marriage to Ruth, the mere fact of the child’s existence will not suffice.”

“Won’t John be ruined, Ross?” she asked, putting her own glass down on the nightstand and placing her hand on his forearm.

He smiled. He could already see she was wishing to help John in some way. He patted her hand. “It is too soon to tell, my love.” He twisted around to sit next to her on the bed. “John’s reputation will be tarnished, of course, but he will weather it. And, if I am to be honest about it, his behaviour may help him gain greater stature amongst his peers.” The look on Demelza’s face made him laugh out loud, which earned him a quick swat on the arm. “It’s the truth, Demelza. Ruth has ridden roughshod over him ever since they married. You saw evidence of this tonight.”

“What will happen to Ruth, Ross?”

“Well, Ruth will have to live her life, divorced and infamous.” He finished his brandy and looked at Demelza. “In any event, she will not be able to continue to cast aspersions on your character any longer, my dear. She’s scandalous enough in her own right.”

He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose, rose, unbuttoned his breeches and shucked them down and off his feet. He climbed into bed, Demelza scrambling under the covers to snuggle up next to him. He wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the fragrance of her: flowers, spices, Demelza. “It was a wonderful party tonight, Demelza. You were a triumph. Thank you”

She blushed prettily in the candlelight. “You’re welcome, Ross. Happy birthday!”

He ran the tip of his index finger along the neckline of her nightrail, and plucked at the light blue ribbon tying it closed. “Can I unwrap my present now?” he murmured, pressing her into the feather mattress and tasting the skin of her collarbone.

“I thought you’d never ask, Ross.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the Poldarkian for offering to host a fanfiction contest! I wish had happened, but I'll continue to hope for another one soon! Thanks again to all of you who have kudoed, commented or tweeted your thoughts about the work. And, of course, my eternal gratitude to Jackie and Sherry for the beta. They're both moms so I tapped into their expertise on a few things. 
> 
>  
> 
> I wish you the very best this season. 
> 
> mmmuse
> 
> @mmmusings on twitter  
> @mmmuses on tumblr


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